


An Altar in the Evening Dews And Damps

by Iwovepizza



Series: Battle Hymns [3]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: BAMF Wylan, Blood and Gore, Bromance, Gang Violence, Incubus Wylan, M/M, Sinnamon roll Wylan, Wylan and Kaz bonding, a bit of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwovepizza/pseuds/Iwovepizza
Summary: Kaz is trying to figure Wylan out, but the incbus is proving to be a difficult case to crack.





	An Altar in the Evening Dews And Damps

_“I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps,_

_they have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps…”_

_-“The Battle Hymn of the Republic”_

\----Ӝ----

 

            It didn’t take long for Kaz to conclude that yet another ghost lurked within the Slat.

            This wasn't one of the true ghosts of people who’d perished under this very roof, nor was it the beautiful but powerful wraith, who was both merciful and vengeful as she wandered the halls near-silently.

            No, this ghost was new. It was different.

            It seemed to always be lurking somewhere nearby, whether it be trailing ahead or following two steps behind. It loitered in the living room and slunk through kitchen, never taking a morsel but always looking. Always watching.

            It never left footprints, even if the dust had piled up, and was so quiet that that even its reflection seemed to forget that it was there. The only sign that it had ever been present was the fact that things would sometimes wind up in all of the wrong places.

             A vase relocated.

             A stack of newspapers disturbed.

            A few shot glasses in the sink.

            However, if the ghost didn’t linger and move things around, there would be no sign that it had ever even been there at all.

            It also seemed to come to every beck and call, no matter how intentional or unintentional that call may be.

            If Kaz so much as thought of its name, it would appear his the general vicinity, watching him.

            He could be halfway across Kerch, and if he uttered the ghost’s name it would still be there. It would _always_ be there.

            This made it quite useful during break-ins and other activities of the like, but outside of that, it was just downright invasive. Kaz could be limping down the street minding his own business, but if he so much as had a lingering thought about the ghost, there it would be, shoving through the crowd to get towards him.

            Many times Kaz had pulled the ghost aside, threatened to harm it if it didn’t stop showing up at unconventional times, but the ghost was unafraid, its gaze never wavering as its eyes held Kaz’s.

            Kaz eventually gave up trying to keep the thing away; the only tactic he could possibly use was to simply not think about the ghost at all. That was near-impossible, though, because once he thought about not thinking about the ghost, he was technically thinking about the ghost and it would show up again.

            That day, when he and the ghost were alone in the living room together- the rest of the Dregs having gone off to the gambling dens to celebrate another successful heist- Kaz snapped.

            “Why do you do it?” he demanded, and the ghost looked up from its newest sewing project; one of Rotty’s shirts that was pockmarked with bullet holes. 

            “Pardon?”

            “Why do you show up whenever someone thinks of you?”

            A soft smile spread across the ghost’s face, and it returned its gaze back to the shirt as it slid the needle through the fabric of the shirt and the patch that was being applied to it.

            “A shepherd has to look over his flock,” was all it said, and Kaz certainly wasn’t going allow it to be left at that.

            “What do you mean?” he snapped, his gloved fingers drumming on the wood of his cane in his irritation.

            “It’s complicated,” the ghost replied, still not meeting Kaz’s eyes.

            “Then enlighten me, if you will.”

            “No.”

            “ _Wylan_.”

            The ghost, Wylan, did look up then, and despite the fact that his eyes were bluer than ice, they burned with all of the intensity of a bonfire.

            “I owe you nothing,” he stated flatly. “I’m not required to tell you anything.”

            A muscle in Kaz’s jaw jumped, and Wylan continued on, “You can threaten me with violence, you can cut me with your sharp tongue and even sharper glare, but I will tell you nothing. I’m not in debt like these other men and women are. I don’t owe the Dregs a cent. In fact, you’re the one in debt- I _am_ curing your comrade’s gambling addiction by keeping his mind focused on…other things.”

             “Yes, but you still joined and I’m still your leader-”

            “I am led by no one but myself, and perhaps my love.”

            “Listen here, you little-”

            But Wylan was gone then- most likely called upon by someone else, leaving Kaz with no one to glower at but the empty air that hung where he once sat.

 

\----Ӝ----

 

            The next time Kaz tried to get answers out of Wylan, he tried to do it in a more polite manner.

            He invited Wylan for a walk down by the harbor, and the creature willingly complied, even putting on his special silks for the occasion despite Kaz advising against it.

            The air was cold and crisp, and gulls circled overhead like vultures as they scanned the docks for bait left unattended. The smell of salt and brine coasted on the breeze that ruffled the two young men’s hair, and many people were out and about despite the early hour, checking the moorings and swabbing the decks of their magnificent vessels.

            Wylan was barefoot, as always, and Kaz wondered how the creature could stand the chill in the thin silks; Kaz himself was wearing three layers, and even then he still felt the need to flip up his collar against the wind. Wylan, however, seemed unfazed.

            There was also the fact that the creature never commented on Kaz’s limp. The Bastard of the Barrel leaned heavily on his cane whenever it hit the ground, and yet the creature simply accommodated him, never accidentally walking too fast or too slow like how it usually happened- people either kept speeding up- either being unaware or having forgotten of Kaz’s lack of ability to keep up, or they were _too_ aware and slowed down to an almost condescending pace.

            He felt comfortable with Wylan, though, who never rushed him but never let him lag, either.

            “Your world is so wonderful,” Wylan mused as they walked along, and he seemed a bit shocked at Kaz’s skeptical scoff. “What, you don’t believe that’s the case?’

            “Ketterdam is far from beautiful. If you want beautiful, you should try Ravka. I hear their mountains are nice.”

            Wylan frowned. “But this place is magnificent.”

            Kaz watched as a group of burly men cornered someone and began to beat the life out of him, snarling something about unpaid debts, and looked away. “I don’t think that’s really a word for it.”

            “Oh, but it is,” Wylan’s eyes turned heavenward, and when Kaz followed his gaze he realized that the creature was watching the crows and the gulls fight for the slim pickings. Despite the gulls’ size advantage, the crows always won. “Back in my homeland, I didn’t have all of this.”

            “ _Your_ homeland?”

            “Yes, my homeland,” Wylan confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “Where else?”

            “I just thought-”

            Wylan cut him off, continuing on, “As I was saying, back in my homeland, we didn’t have all of these privileges.” A particularly vicious wave surged into the harbor, the water kicking up and nearly soaking them. “We didn’t have water or gulls or crows. There were no shops or houses or streets or flowers or music.”

            “Sounds like a depressing place.”

            “Very much so.” Wylan suddenly took interest in his feet, which, despite the disgusting street cobbles, were still neat and clean. “It was hell.”

            Kaz wasn’t sure whether he was being figurative or literal, but he didn’t feel like it was his place to ask as of that moment. He stayed quiet, in hopes that Wylan would continue talking.

            “I assume you didn’t invite me here just because you would like to get better acquainted,” the creature pointed out almost immediately. “What do you want to ask me?”

            Kaz stopped in his tracks, and Wylan did as well, ignoring the grouchy people that milled around them, complaining under their breaths that they should talk somewhere other than in the middle of the road.

            “I was just wondering…” he trailed off, and Wylan stood there, infinitely patient. “Why do you always come when someone thinks of you?”

            It was like he’d flicked a switch.

            Wylan suddenly clammed up, throwing up barricades between them as his eyes grew dark with his annoyance.

            “You’ve already gotten an answer to that question,” Wylan growled. “I daresay that you have a sheer lack of self-preservation to ask it again.”

            “Was that a threat?” Kaz demanded, suddenly livid, and despite the fact that any other man would go running for the hills at the man’s tone, Wylan was unruffled.

            “Just know, Kaz Brekker, that I don’t appreciate being mocked, and I won’t hesitate to act upon it if this continues.”

            Kaz’s anger melted into confusion. “I wasn’t mocking-”

            But once again, Wylan was gone, leaving Kaz alone with his thoughts for the rest of the walk back to the Slat.

 

\----Ӝ----

 

            The final time Kaz asked the question, he hadn’t had it planned out beforehand. Thinking back on it, the Bastard of the Barrel realized that that was probably the reason why the attempt was successful.

            The night’s had grown longer and the days shorter, and the cold that had arrived seeped through every crack and crevice, always able to find its way into even the most insulated mercher’s house.

            Kaz hobbled down the street, the staccato triplets of his gait echoing through the narrow streets, warning the pedestrians that an apex predator was nearby.

            The buildings leaned in to inspect him, their hollow glass eyes critical as they seemed to pick Kaz apart from the inside out, examining his mechanisms in an attempt to find out what made the Bastard of the Barrel tick.

            At this hour, anyone with a right mind stayed off the streets, especially when it came to living in the Barrel. Night was when monsters like Kaz came out to play, and once inside, people became less of a target for robberies or random acts of violence by drunken gang members.

            This explained why the streets were deserted.

            There were no plump pigeons ripe for the picking here- this wasn’t the gambling district, and even the mindless tourists had an inkling of a sense to stay away from these parts- and there were no other people milling about. The shops that hadn’t been boarded up long ago were closed, and Kaz could see the silhouettes of dogs slinking within, ready to attack any unfortunate crook that decided to break the windows to get inside.

            A crow cried a warning to the north, but Kaz paid it no heed.

            He knew that anyone with even a half of a brain would know to keep away from him, even if he’d lost all of his weapons during the escapade that he was returning from. As he turned the corner, he realized that he was sorely mistaken.

            Two rows of men eyed him as they blocked his path, and Kaz’s jaw tightened when he saw the knives glittering in their hands.

            A wave of battle calm washed over him, and he opened his mouth to begin to work his magic with words in hopes of discouraging them from fighting, since the only thing he had on him that he could possibly use was his cane.

            Before he could get a word out, though, a man in the front spat, “No talk, Brekker! We know you ain’t armed and we know you ain’t accompanied by anyone. Not a smart move with all of the enemies you’ve made. You is in some deep trouble, yes you is.”

            Kaz tried to tell them that yes, he was accompanied, and that if they didn’t back down they would be slaughtered where they stood, but the man in the front never allowed him to get a word in.

            “No lies! You is known for your tongue, yes you is, and I ain’t a fool enough to let you run your mouth and make my men doubt.” His eyes were wild, almost as wild as the scraggly beard that clung to his face, and his skin was so pale it could’ve been mistaken for pasteurized milk.

            Kaz’s mouth closed with an audible click, and in that moment he began to panic; the man didn’t seem keen on letting him speak anytime soon and, other than his cane, his words were the only weapons that he really had at hand right now. He couldn’t take on this many men with just his cane, especially if all of these men were armed to the teeth.

            The man gave a signal and the group began to advance, quickly but warily, their eyes scanning the roofs of the buildings for the Wraith and the windows for the Sharpshooter or the Heartrender. They found no one, though, because no one was there.

            Kaz was well and truly cornered.

            He was going to die here.

            The panic didn’t show on his face, though; it never did, but if someone he was close to looked into his eyes, they would probably be able to see the anxiety-filled thoughts filtering behind his irises.

            Right here, in this street, Kaz Brekker was going to pay for his sins.

            And he would pay for them in blood.

            Kaz wondered what Inej would think when she saw him hanging from a lamppost, his throat cut and his body ravaged by knives. How long would she well and truly mourn before she was overcome by vengeance? How long would these men have to live once Inej was finally able to fight past her grieving?

            How would Nina react? Jesper?

            Jesper, Kaz supposed, would probably be fine. He had Wylan to help him through it.

            _Wylan._

Kaz flinched when suddenly a roar ripped through the air, a near-shriek that rattled the windows and made Kaz’s heart skip a few beats in his chest. The lamps that lined the streets began to shake, the candles’ flames whirling and snapping back and forth wildly. They flickered.

            Once.

            Twice.

            Gone.

            The street was plunged into darkness, and the men cried out in their fear, shifting nervously when they realized that the only light they would be able to see by was the light of the moon, who watched them, cold and unfeeling, from her throne overhead.

            Kaz could barely make the men out at this point, and he wondered whether or not he’d be able to get away fast enough under the cover of darkness.

            He didn’t have to decide, however, as one of the men screamed. One man became two, and two became four, until the entire group was suddenly crying out in their terror.

            Kaz wondered what the hell was going on, if the men had just lost their minds, but that’s when he was able to hear the distinct sound of muscle being rendered from bone. He stumbled backward, losing his footing and falling onto his rear as a chorus of death began to sing to him, a symphony of flesh tearing and bones shattering and limbs twisting. Screams were abruptly silenced, and knives were sent flying in all different directions.

            One landed near Kaz, and the conman had to choke down bile to keep himself from losing his dinner when he realized that there was a hand still holding onto it. He wouldn’t’ve been fazed if it had been he himself who had done the deed, but this time was different; this was the act of a beast, of some sort of creature able to take on several men at once and tear them to shreds, and it made Kaz near-sick with his fear.

            By the time the last body hit the ground, Kaz had desperately hauled himself to his feet, his legs shaking almost as much as his hands as he leaned heavily on his cane.

            One by one, the lanterns flickered back on, illuminating the massacre in front of him; organs were strewn across the ground, bodies mangled until they couldn’t necessarily be identified as human, and blood was flowing down the street in a deluge of crimson, weaving through the cracks in the cobblestones like gyrating rivers.

            And there, standing crouched in the middle of it all, was Wylan.

            It was Wylan in the loosest sense of the term; lanky, red-haired, and blue-eyed, but the similarities ended there.

            This Wylan was a beast, a monster whose making could only be described as being forged in the fires of hell itself.

            Six glowing eyes watched Kaz- pupil-less yet somehow more calculating than before- and spiraling ram’s horns curled from his hair and around his temples. Leathery bat wings had sprouted from his shoulders, the membranes ragged and in some places pockmarked with holes, and his fingernails and toenails had grown into long, serrated talons. A tail, whose tip was sharp and thin like a blade’s, lashed back and forth behind him, and his mouth was brimming with sharp- several rows of them, to be exact.

            He was covered from head to toe in blood, like someone had dumped a bucket of vermillion paint onto him.

            Despite his horror, Kaz found himself rasping, “Y-you-you came.”

            _I did,_ Wylan’s voice sounded like three people were speaking at once, and they echoed inside Kaz’s skull rather than throughout the street.

            “W-w-why?”

            _Because you are Jesper’s kin,_ Wylan responded softly, rising to his feet. _Jesper’s kin has become my kin, and there is no bond that is greater than a bond between an incubus and people of his own flesh and blood._

            And that had been that.

            They’d never spoken about the encounter again, or about the twisted form- the true form- that Wylan had assumed, but something changed between the two of them.

            Every word was no longer a snap or a snarl, and they found themselves enjoying everyday conversation much more than anyone else would dare to when it came to Kaz Brekker; it was as if as one of them wasn’t a grandmaster conman and the other wasn’t a sex demon. They were just two normal people. Two brothers.

            Kaz was finally able to put together all of the pieces, after a few more bits that he managed to pry from Wylan.

            Humans were fragile, much more fragile than Wylan was.

            The lurking around and the constant checking for food despite the fact that he fed on pleasure wasn’t odd or creepy, but rather brotherly. Dotingly.

            When other members of the Dregs made fun of Wylan’s behaviors, rather than join in as usual, Kaz silenced them with a glare.

            They’d never understand just how or why things had changed between the two of them, they understood enough to know that things had changed for the better.

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by a guest reviewer named Tessa and I was more than happy to comply :)


End file.
